


The cure for Insomnia

by silverleviathan



Category: FFXV - Fandom, Final Fantasy XV
Genre: Almost canon AU, Established Relationship, Fluff
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-09-02
Updated: 2017-09-02
Packaged: 2018-12-23 00:41:44
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,747
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11978496
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/silverleviathan/pseuds/silverleviathan
Summary: AU where Noctis survives the battle against Ardyn and begins to rebuild Insomnia - with Prompto ever at his side.





	The cure for Insomnia

**Author's Note:**

> So I've tried to stay as true to the backstory as possible but added stuff here and there - basically the end of the game broke my heart and now I'm in denial.  
> Thanks to Minami (twitter @minami_aoi24), Cassi (Ao3 @Cassica), Freddy, and Tatiana (twitter @Kaifudo16) for helping iron out the mistakes!

Frowning slightly, Prompto rubs a thumb over the pale stretch marks on his hips, cursing their determination to remain as prominent as ever despite dutiful use of various oils and creams Ignis suggested to him. Scowling, Prompto tugs on the crisp button-up Ignis had laid out earlier, leaning into the mirror to button it up, suddenly desperate to hide the tell-tale marks of his childhood. Noctis once said the scars remind him of tiny fish, flashing silver in the moonlight as they fan out across his pale skin - But to Prompto they’re just what they are; jagged reminders of the way he’d forced his skin to rip itself apart. Not for the first time, he wishes his parents had been just a little more present in his adolescent life to remind him that takeout isn’t an adequate meal for every night of the week, that’s it’s worth it to put the effort into eating some fucking fruit from time to time. But they weren’t there, and that’s just how it is.

Growing up, Prompto never had a home. He’s come to accept this fact; despite growing up in a relatively wealthy area of Insomnia, he always felt distanced from his parents. He could never figure out why their hugs seemed cold, their words empty; as a chubby, lonely boy struggling through adolescence he just accepted it as a fact of the world. It wasn’t until the road trip that he learned what love meant.

In hindsight, he should have seen something was awry in his childhood. He never questioned the regular visits from the Lucian general, the afternoons spent in awkward silence as Cor tried to make stiff conversation, never questioned why a man of such high rank would need to check up on a teenage nobody. Never questioned the way his parents fumbled to change the channel when news of the empire was broadcast, shooting nervous glances out of the corners of their eyes – or the way he was never allowed the toy swords and tiny soldiers the other boys on his street were gifted – or the summer afternoons he spent helping his schoolteachers mark books when the rest of his class were covering combat in PE. The truth is, Prompto never noticed. Reality washed over him; he forgot birthdays, let homework crumple at the bottom of his bag, spent Saturday mornings gazing blankly at his bedroom ceiling in the oppressive silence of the often-empty house.

Years slipped by like sand through his fingers. He grew larger; watched desolately in the mirror as his glasses cut into the sides of his face, clothes growing tighter like greedy hands squeezing the life out of his tired limbs. He was alive, he reflected, but he wasn’t living.

No, that had changed with the rainy Tuesday afternoon, and the injured puppy; the letter; the stumble; the jogging; his first real conversation with the prince; and finally, in their last year of high school, Noct’s encouragement to apply to join the Crownsguard. The war was coming to a bitter end, and King Regis’ hints to prepare for surrender were becoming increasingly dire; the Empire had the upper hand. Their next moves would be unpredictable. When rumours spread that the Crown Prince would be forced to leave his capital, Prompto’s decision was made – he would follow his best friend to the ends of the earth.

Prompto could drown himself in the memories, the labyrinth snaking through gruelling training and nights spent shaking with fear in his dorm bed, wondering if he would survive the week’s arduous demands, utterly convinced that he wasn’t good enough, doomed to return to the lonely emptiness of life in the suburbs. A failure.

But the exile never came. Week after week he kept his corner of the crappy squad bedroom, and each Saturday saw Noctis flopping down onto the dutifully made bed, Ignis appraising Prompto’s cleanliness, Gladio reminiscing about his own days of military initiation. Each of them embracing him in turn as Prompto’s day off drew to a close. Telling him how proud they were – an emotion Prompto’s meagre childhood left him unprepared for.

Of course, it wasn’t easy. His devotion to running hadn’t prepared the eighteen-year-old for the intense physical examinations the trails to join the Crownsguard would bring; at night his muscles screamed, joints creaking irritably as he tossed beneath the standard-issue blankets, cursing his scrawny body and its fragility. It didn’t help that he had no experience with weaponry; almost every other applicant had, at the minimum, completed the basic combat module in high school. Prompto began the first weapon practice in the knowledge he was undoubtedly out of his depth; the broadswords crushed him under their weight; the daggers slipped out of his nervously sweaty hands to skid across the training hall floor. Polearms were successful until he slung one over his shoulder and sliced a sizeable chunk of a girl’s ponytail off – only the short-swords, the most basic of the weapons in the room, allowed Prompto to hold his own in duels. Just.

It wasn’t until the third week that the applicants were taken to the shooting range on the military campus, and Prompto was relieved to see the majority of the group looked just as uneasy as he felt. Combat was a mandatory module in schools across Insomnia, but guns were absolutely prohibited from the public. It’s not surprising, then, that each and every applicant was… well, shit. Bullets ricocheted off trees, drilled into the earth, sent showers of sawdust spraying from wooden supports – everywhere but the target, sat brazenly in the centre field.

As the line before him dwindled and disappeared, Prompto sucked in a deep breath and laid his hands on the machine on the block. The grey metal was slightly warm beneath his touch, almost seeming to purr with delight as he settled the butt on the onward curve of his shoulder. Peering through the sights reassured him; this was no clumsy sword to be swung like a caveman wields his club. This was an instrument of death, cold and terrible and merciless.

Prompto squeezed the trigger. The gun shuddering to life, the target rocked on its supports as twenty crystalline bullets ripped through its candy-coloured rings. The crowd fell silent, shock and awe freezing the moment in time – for a heartbeat, all Prompto could hear was his own ragged breath and the rush of adrenaline-rich blood in his ears.

Like shattered glass, the tension broke; the group erupted into wild exclamations and cheers, surging onto Prompto and embracing his long-deserved success. For the first time, Prompto’s face split into the biggest smile, pride blooming in his chest. _I did it!_ he thought to himself as he shook hands with the commander, firmly meeting his gaze for the first time. _This is it. This is where my life begins._

And it did.

 

“You okay there, buddy?”

Prompto startles out of his reminiscence, almost dropping the can of hairspray he’d been absent-mindedly turning over in his hands. Noctis is leaning on the bathroom doorframe, smirking slightly at Prompto’s clumsiness but maintaining a kindness alongside the amusement in his eyes. “You’ve been a while. Thought I’d check and make sure you haven’t suffocated with the stupid amount of spray you use on that chocobo butt.”

Prompto rolls his eyes, haphazardly spraying the fine mist over his hair and carefully replacing the can on the shelf beneath the mirror, between Noct’s toothbrush and hair gel. The familiar warmth at seeing their stuff alongside each other blossoms in his chest, like it did when they were teenagers and Prompto would seek refuge in Noct’s messy, cluttered bedroom from the hollow emptiness of his own house.

“Yeah,” he smiles softly, “I’m fine. Just thinkin’.”

“Oh Gods, that’s never a good sign…” Noctis smirks as he reaches out, curling his arms around Prompto’s waist and pressing a gentle kiss behind his ear. “What’s on that pretty mind of yours?”

Prompto presses back into his boyfriend’s body, placing his own hands over Noct’s and tilting his head to allow Noct to kiss softly down his neck. “Nothing important. Just - memories, y’know.”

“Good memories or bad memories?” Noct murmurs.

“Good,” he replies, still somewhat tangled in the threads of the past. _His nerves at the ceremony of the completion of his training –_ by the skin of my teeth _, he thinks to himself, having completed all required self-defence modules in a frantic six months - constantly reminded that the eyes of the nation will be watching King Regis welcome the new Crownsguard to their royal duty. Prompto had had to run to the bathroom to throw up minutes before the cameras started rolling. A nervous wreck, he watched from the wings as his fellow classmates took the crowds, the ceremony all in their stride – lucky upper-class assholes, they’re used to this kind of thing – and all too soon the encouraging nod from the organiser came, his cue to enter the spotlight. Walking up to the throne in a daze, stumbling a little and feeling his cheeks burst into flame – but King Regis’ handshake was firm and reassuring, and Noctis’ expression formed the picture of pride at his father’s shoulder. To his own surprise, Prompto’s voice was confident when he took his oath. This was his calling – only a few short weeks later he would be setting off on the road-trip of a lifetime with his best friends. Yeah… this was living._

“Yeah,” he says again, his voice firmer. “Really good.”

“Good.” Raising his head, Noct eyes Prompto in the mirror with what can only be described as satisfaction. “You look amazing, Prom, shit. The girls are gonna be all over you.”

Prompto shrugs. “Ignis picked a nice suit.”

Noctis seems to agree, taking in the soft black material of the blazer and slacks, contrasting the snow-white of the dress shirt and dark skinny tie. Prompto looks all slick business, a guy to be trusted, a guy to lead, born to stand by the King’s side. Noctis knows the gorgeous man behind the suit though; knows that just beneath that sharp collar a dark bruise marks who he belongs to, that two silver rings curled around his cartilage peek out between the blonde tufts, Prompto’s fun and reckless nature shining through the smart attire.

Smiling into Prompto’s shoulder, Noct squeezes his boyfriend’s midsection briefly before stepping back and lacing their fingers together. “C’mon, chocobo-butt,” he grins. “We have a speech to give. Insomnia won’t rebuild itself, y’know.”

**Author's Note:**

> Chapter one, over and out! I hope you liked it, I have some fun ideas for places I could go with this... possibly some smut, possibly some drama, we'll see how it goes. Let me know your thoughts and leave a kudos if you enjoyed! I'm on twitter at @silver(capital i)eviathan (i know, that 'i' is pretending to be an L because I'm a fraud).


End file.
